


Rendre Fou

by NimWallace



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Ficlet, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Ghosts, M/M, One Shot, Paranormal, SortaSpookyChallenge, Spooky, or johnlock if you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 15:17:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16537085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NimWallace/pseuds/NimWallace
Summary: Sherlock and john go investigate an abandoned hospital where a suspect claims a ghost killed his girlfriend. Banter ensues.





	Rendre Fou

“John, turn back on your flashlight, the terrain is challenging.”   
“The battery died,” John growled. “That's weird, I just replaced them.”   
Sherlock rolled his eyes, stepping over a decrepit fence.   
“Stay close, then.”   
He'd formed several theories about where the murder weapon might be hidden, but the most likely was in the abandoned hospital itself.   
Kyle Randolph was arrested a month ago after calling the police to report he'd witnessed a murder in an abandoned hospital.   
Upon arriving at the scene, the police were baffled to find the body of Sarah Peterson, Kyle's girlfriend, brutally stabbed inside.   
Kyle was sobbing, refusing to go inside, and, evidently, claiming a _ghost_ had killed Sarah.   
Aside from his presence at the scene, the Yard was having trouble collecting evidence.   
“It's weird,” Lestrade had told him. “There's no DNA or anything that we know of yet, no weapon. I think the kid might actually be insane. He doesn't seem to believe he did it.”   
“Maybe he didn't.”   
The response had gotten a guttural laugh from the inspector, but Sherlock just scowled and agreed to check it out.   
So now he and John were trekking over the building's wreckage to make their way inside.   
_Rendre_ _Fou_ had been opened in 1896, but closed after just ten years, due to patients going insane for seemingly no reason at all.   
Theories ranged from mass hysteria to a strange, unheard of virus, but Sherlock was unconcerned with the history of the place itself, no matter how John entertained himself with it.   
“You have to admit it's creepy,” John muttered, jogging to keep up with Sherlock's long strides.   
“It's just a place, John. Like any other we go to.”   
Sherlock opened the hospital door, and it creaked on it's hinges.   
“See?” he said, shining his flashlight down the hallway. It was dark, with white walls littered with graffiti.   
The door slammed behind them, causing John to jump violently.   
“Quite windy,” he muttered.   
“Hmm. I'm correct, I think we need to go to the quarantine room.”   
“Oh, lovely.”   
They walked slowly, Sherlock scanning each room with a sweep of his flashlight, John close at his arm.   
“Seems the only ghosts around here are seventeen year olds who think they're cool,” John snorted, noting an abundance of graffiti relating to smoking marajuana.   
Sherlock wasn't listening, he was focusing on navigating the vast labyrinth of hall ways, staircases, and rooms.   
Finally, they reached the quarantine room.   
It looked empty.   
“So, they put people who were contagious here?” John asked, rummaging around the few things lying about.   
“Hmm. Anything potentially deadly and contagious, yes. Many people were put up here and simply died within hours. It's very damp, moldy. Clearly unfit for humans.”   
That it was, and it smelled bad. How anyone could possibly get _better_ in this room eluded both of them.   
Maybe it was better in 1896?   
“So, you don't believe in ghosts, then?” John asked with a smirk. Sherlock snorted.   
“Oh yes, John, I am quite the supernatural enthusiast.”   
John grinned.   
“C'mon, you've never seen something you can't explain? Anything that gave you chills. . .”   
“Nope.”   
John shrugged.   
“I'm not a particularly enthusiastic believer either, you know. But I think if I saw something, something I couldn't explain. . .”   
“John, would you please focus on the task at hand? You seem to be mumbling again.”   
John rolled his eyes and commenced the search.   
The wind howled through the half-broken windows, and the hospital creaked and groaned.   
“There's nothing in here,” Sherlock growled in frustration. “I don't understand. I was sure it would be in here.”   
“Oh, the genius was wrong then?” John scoffed. “Come on, Sherlock. It's late, let's go home. I don't like this place.”   
They left the hospital behind, not bothering to look around slowly. Before they got into a cab, Sherlock looked back at the hospital and froze.   
John looked over to where he was staring, but nothing was there.   
“Something wrong, Sherlock?”   
“No.”   
John shrugged.   
They climbed in the cab tiredly, eager to return to Baker Street.   
“John?”   
“Yeah?”   
“I cannot say that. . .beyond reasonable doubt. . . .ghosts. . .are not real.”   
John chuckled.   
“Let's get you into bed. No more ghost hunts.”

 


End file.
